Sick Little Games
by grimmjow'svitaminwater
Summary: It will never matter in this life what you do; you were just a speck of dust floating in time. In this life, I am a pawn. I play these sick little games. I am hollow inside. Even something hollow, though, can be filled in time. Grimmjow/OC.
1. When I Fall

A/N: Once again, I will attempt to make a story I will ACTUALLY update. Since I plan on being a writer one day, I've gotta work on this whole 'writing something and doing what you planned to do' kind of thing. *sigh* So, yeah. I'm going to try and make this NOT suck. Arinori, I realize, is a boy's name. Whateva. It's original on my part, so...

Here we go:

_Sick Little Games_

_._

_(Well painted passion, you rightly suspect._

_Impersonation, the dumbing down of love._

_Jaded in anger, love underwhelms you._

_No box of chocolates, whichever way you fall._

_And if I tell you, lover alone without love. _

_What will happen, lover alone without love..._

_will you miss him?_

_Lover another without, without love.)_

_-Frou Frou, 'The Dumbing Down of Love'_

We are Espada.

We do not love. We do not feel compassion, nor are we understanding or thoughtful. We do not have the capability. We are not built, _programmed _in such a way. We are not made with such fatal, human errors. We were created with the thought of muder and genocide in our heads, the intent of destroying every creature in our path modified with out DNA. We are not alive. We do not have a soul or a 'heart'.

We are hollow, inside and out.

We are initially nothing.

Dust in the wind...

.

.

Blood dripped and dribbled from the left side of Grimmjow's body, nothingness replacing what had formely been his arm. The silence that came over the Sexta was a pure mixture of hatred, rage, embarrasment, and pain. A breeze drifted like a tumbleweed from the open balcony, blowing the thin white curtain along with it. The feeling of the light wind against his open wound made Grimmjow gasp before wincing and muttering choice swears under his breath. Springs from the inside of the bed he sat upon faltered under his moving weight as he tried to turn his body away from the breeze. Something inside of his stomach fell and a feeling of weakness helped weight it down further. _'Damn Tousen...that son of a bitch...' _The blue-haired arrancar slowly settled himself and let his eyes close for a moment, his right hand drifting up towards the stub that was left of his arm. With a precision that only a surgeon could have, he reached out to touch the bloody muscle and tissue and whatthehellever else was bleeding excessively.

"I thought I said not to mess with it...idiot." Bright blue eyes faced subtle green eyes in a matter of seconds, as Arinori immerged from a dark room that had once been forgotten by the world until then. Grimmjow let out a small scoff, turning his head so he didn't have to see the motherly look drowning the Novena espada's face.

Small footsteps padded on the cool tiles of Grimmjow's room toward the bed. An object was set upon the bed, springs screeching from the new placement.

"Permission to operate?" The gentle alto voice asked, a joking tone wavering in it. The Sexta refused to make eye contact.

"...yeah. Sure." With a low sigh, Arinori sat herself next to the small kit, popping it open with a loud 'click'. She examined the objects inside, pursuing a specific one. She knitted her brow in frustration, a pouty look set on her face. Grimmjow allowed himself a glance at the Novena, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. He loved it when she looked like that...

Pulling a bottle of peroxide from the kit, along with a roll of bandages, Arinori got to work. She placed a piece of bandage against the opening of the bottle, pouring the liquid onto it and gingerly placed it on the bloody area of Grimmjow's long-gone arm. A loud hiss erupted from Grimmjow, followed by a low growl of disapproval toward Arinori. The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes, mumbling a series of insults towards the Sexta.

"Can you just shut the fuck up and work on my goddamn arm?" Grimmjow spat in a rage.

"Can you stop bitching and appreciate the fact that I'm still sitting here, being an extremely amazing friend for dealing with you?" Arinori wasn't much for accosting others, but when it came to Grimmjow, she could walk through hell and back just to tell him exactly what was on her mind.

"Che. Whatever." The Sexta decided he was too tired to be an ass, so instead, he put his energy into watching as Arinori articulately worked with his raw skin and blood. He watched intently, admiring her work ethic and determination to at least get his wound cleansed and wrapped up. She worked tirelessly, fingers drenched in peroxide and crimson.

"I'm sorry...you know, about your luck. And your arm. And...all that stuff." Arinori paused in the middle of her work, tilting her head upward to stare into deep, blue eyes. Grimmjow returned the stare and relaxed his tense shoulders. Her face was an off-pale, ghostly in the moonlight that hung overhead in Hueco Mundo. The stare only lasted for a minute or two before Arinori began her dilligent work once again, now in the process of wrapping the entire stub.

Grimmjow felt a wave of nausea as he went over the whole scene in his head again, trying to forget the exact feeling that he now knew. He tried not to pinpoint the indefinite second that Tousen's blade cut through his skin and left him weak and one limb less. Something inside him twinged and the tape stopped reeling. He wasn't ready for this. He was too numb, too exhausted to remember.

Arinori gingerly finished off the last of the bandages, smiling at her own work. She placed both hands on her thighs, grinning proudly at the Sexta who seems to be in a trance.

"All finished. Good as new...um...kind of," The Novena swallowed her words, wishing she hadn't said anything in the first place. Grimmjow hadn't seem to notice her comment at all. Instead, he lazily rested his chin upon her head, right arm hooking around her, hand firmly on her upper back. He pulled the younger girl towards him, letting out a breath from deep in his chest. As he inhaled, he could smell her hair, which vaguely smelled of sand and apples. He relished it for a sweet moment, her small bodies warmth against his.

Arinori stiffened, silent as time flew by. She did not pull away or wish for it to end. She simply let him rest there, his unheard 'thank you' washing over her.

.

_Yes, I know it's terrible. Review it. Tell me just how horrible it was, and I will thank you for it. :) _


	2. Something About A Believer

A/N: Hooray for another chapter! ...I think.

Gah, I know that him being romantic is OOC-ish, but please note that in the previous chapter, he was EXHAUSTED. He was just being...all, crack-tired-ish. Meh, I hate it when I type and sound so whiny and weird. *sigh* Oh well.

Here we go...

_Sick Little Games_

_._

_._

("Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:

What is it else? A madness most discreet,

A choking gall and a preserving sweet.")

Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene i

.

Arinori wasn't much of a believer. She wasn't like Ulquiorra (nor, could she ever be capable of such a thing) who was able to hear one word from Aizen's mouth and praise it as if it was the word of God himself. She had no such faith in anyone. As an Espada, it was a rare personality trait to have, but most of Aizen's subordinates pretending to posess it.

Arinori wasn't going to play pretend ever again.

.

Crushing a grain of sand between two nimble fingers, a sigh escaped from the Novena Espada's lips. She rested her weary head on two thin knees and sunk deep into her own skin. This was a sad, sad existence she was living...never had she asked to be reborn like this. She never wanted to be this way. If only she could remember just who she used to be...(she was undoubtedly sure that she wasn't going to like it when she could remember...)

_If there was anything at all she could vaguely call upon, it was that of a snow globe. _

A snow globe similar to the landscape of Hueco Mundo: pure white nothingness, beings hidden by visages in a backdrop no one actually saw.

Arinori had nearly forgotten the feeling of something cool or frozen. It had been so long since she had been away from the ghastly place in which she was forced to live. In the World of the Living, things were different. Things were colorful and bright and vivid. Things were _alive. _Now, why did such crushable, puny, insignifigant creatures get to live in such a wonderland of a place, while beings such as herself were forced to live in this barren plane of existence?

_I want to be inside of that snow globe. I want someone to trap me there, shake my furiously, leave me without air to breathe. Maybe then, something will actually matter to me more than anything does now..._

Tourou rested in the warm sand next to Arinori, discarded and unsheathed. It gleamed in the artificial light of the moon, seeming more deadly than intended. Somehow, Arinori felt the deepest connection with her Zanpakuto whenever the hilt was in her hands. When she had been become an Espada, her aspect of death assigned had been Hatred. Arinori always believed that Tourou was the embodiment of Hatred. That was why she felt so connected and impowered while holding it. She was so filled with hatred...it was consuming.

"What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?" The Novena swiftly glanced over her shoulder to see the frozen figure of Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, the same look set dead on his face. His eyes were laced with rage, but Arinori saw past the facade and saw the deep set worry in the blue irises.

"Just...thinking. Away from all that stupidity..." Arinori now faced the West, feeling a slight desert breeze against her flush skin.

"Tch. Tell me about it," The sand had silenced Grimmjow's steps as he came up next to the dark haired girl. Quietly, he sat down opposite of Tourou. He gave her sword a glance before looking out into the same nothingness that Arinori saw.

"We're being used. We're just slaves; pawns in a game. Soon enough, Aizen's gonna get bored with us, and we'll be useless." The Sexta stated quiet plainly. He was uneffected by the idea that had now resinated with him in his head. This was merely fact.

"I know..." Arinori whispered, removing a dark strand of hair from her face, "...what are we doing to do when that does happen?" An innocent child was now looking at Grimmjow, green eyes filled with questioning and fear. A child starred at the Sexta, believing in him because there was nothing else to hold onto but _him_.

A look of nobility crossed his features for a moment. He felt that it was his duty to comfort Arinori. It was his duty to let her know the truth, without shattering her world forever. It was his duty to keep her safe now.

With an ragged sigh, the teal-haired man said:

"We'll stick together until that happens. When it does...when it does...he'll kill us. All of us. And he'll never think twice."

For the first time in Arinori's life, she was a believer.

Isn't that a horrible way to start?

.

.


End file.
